A Little Intervention
by silver six
Summary: A time experiment being performed by the daughter of two familiar characters goes horribly--and hilariously--awry. What happens when Jezebel decides to start playing cupid with figures from her parents' past--and her parents? Roy/Riza. Ed/Winry. 5th ch.
1. In Which An Experiment Goes Awry

Fan-Fiction: FMA: A Little Intervention: Chapter 1: In Which an Experiment Goes Awry

Pairings: Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye and Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell

A/N: Thanks to Microsuede Mouse for co-authoring this one! (Oh yeah, and my brother, too, but he doesn't count cause he doesn't have an account—hey, it rhymes!)

Disclaimer: all characters (except, of course, for the lovely Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye) belong to Hiroma Arakawa, the genius who created them. Jezebel belongs to Microsuede Mouse (go read her stories!) and me. Enjoy!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Jezebel?" Riza Hawkeye folded her arms over her chest, her face creased with worry.

"Mom," Jezebel groaned, "do you _have _to keep _asking _me that?"

"Yes," Riza declared obstinately. "It's my job as a mother."

Jezebel sighed, exasperated, and gave up. Who could have known that the great Riza Hawkeye, legend of the military, ace sharp-shooter, determined, devoted, and sometimes frightening Riza, could worry so much about—

"—one simple alchemical experiment, Mom." Jezebel drew the last line in chalk on the front porch of the house, and sat back with a sigh, blowing her blond bangs out of her eyes. Through some accident of genetics, Jezebel had inherited her father's jet black hair, which hung in a braid to her waist, and her mother's blond bangs, which were constantly falling over her face. Her eyes, though, were all her father's; piercing black globes that saw straight through whatever they looked at, whether it be intention, secret, or lie. It was hard to hide anything from Jezebel, and had been since she was six.

Setting the chalk down next to the finished alchemical symbol, she produced an ornately crafted brass watch hand from her pocket and used its cold metal to cool her hands. She was excited, even though she didn't show it.

Her mother looked at the clock hand in suspicion. "Where did you get that?" She glanced back into the house, checking to see that the family clocks were intact.

"Don't worry, mom. I biked down to the dump earlier and found some old broken ones I could scavenge from." She grinned. "Since you don't like me performing surgery on the family heirlooms."

Riza sniffed the air. "So that's what that smell is," she said thoughtfully. "I thought you had just forgotten to shower this morning." She laughed, and dodged the punch her daughter aimed at her leg.

"Hey, where's Dad?" Jezebel asked. "He said he had to pick up a few things, but he should be home by now." She continued grumbling good-naturedly as a few drops of half-hearted rain splattered the driveway. It was Saturday, a storm had been threatening all day, though it hadn't begun yet. Few people were out on the streets, and Jezebel had decided to draw her symbols under the porch awning to make sure they weren't washed away.

"You called?"

Right on cue, Jezebel's father appeared on the porch steps. Setting the paper grocery bags he carried down on the railing, he proceeded to grab Riza's hand and dance her around the porch, laughing like he was fifteen years old and finishing with a drawn-out, movie-style kiss.

Jezebel made an indiscreet gagging noise in the back of her throat. Settling down with a romance whenever a rainy day impeded her adventures did not prevent her from being loudly nauseated at her parents' (albeit mostly her father's) public shows of affection. "Dad, do you have to do that _now?_" she groaned. Ignoring her, he deliberately deepened the kiss before releasing Riza.

"Only you, Roy," she declared vehemently (though not unhappily) as she righted herself and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Jezebel absentmindedly picked up her piece of chalk and tucked it behind her ear in a motion similar to the one Riza had a moment ago performed on a strand of hair. "Where were you, Dad?" she asked, inspecting her symbols one more time.

"Just making preparations for your experiment," he answered.

She glanced up at him, suspicious. "Like what?"

"This."

In one smooth movement he had produced an apple from the paper bag and stuck it firmly his daughter mouth. "I had to get some groceries."

Taking a bite as she removed the apple, she proclaimed: "I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure it's safe?" Riza asked again, peering anxiously at the alchemical symbols.

Roy put a hand around her waist and drew her closer, nestling her comfortingly against his side. "Riza, you forget—she's been researching this since she was five."

"Yeah, mom," Jezebel chimed in. "It's not like I'm going very far; just five minutes back."

"I'm still…" her mother murmured, shook her head, and began again. "I don't think it's a good idea for the first ever Time Alchemist to be a twelve-year-old girl," she blazed suddenly.

Jezebel rolled her eyes. "We've been through this before, Mom." She grinned. "The reason I'm performing the experiment is because all the adults are too nervous to do it."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Riza snapped. Roy silenced her with another kiss, but she still looked doubtful.

Jezebel ignored her mother's anxiety. She was used to it by now, and besides, all her calculations were correct…

…she hoped.

And even if she had been unsure of her calculations (which she wasn't, she told herself), she wouldn't have voiced her uncertainties allowed. That would have made certain that her parents wouldn't let her perform the test.

And after all, it was only five minutes, not five years that she was attempting to travel back.

"Now," she murmured, "I need something to be concentrating on when I activate this thing. Mom, what were you doing five minutes ago?"

Riza thought for a moment. "Making a cup of coffee," she said finally, holding up her mug.

"Right, that's what I'll concentrate on: Riza Hawkeye making a cup of coffee."

Inky black eyes going hard and focused with concentration, she stuck the apple back in her mouth, holding it between her teeth, and laid both hands on top of the symbols. There was a sudden flash of black light—

—and Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye disappeared.

88

Central, 16 Years Earlier

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye switched the ancient coffee machine off and leaned against the table, inhale the bitter aroma wafting from the mug she held in her hands. In a moment she would return to the office to see if the Colonel had yet finished his paperwork (which he, undoubtedly, hadn't). Taking a sip of coffee, she was blissfully unaware that an experiment had just gone horribly awry.

88

Jezebel stood frozen in place as people brushed past her on the street; some cast strange looks at her dumbfounded appearance, others just strode on past. As she stared up at the green and gold banners adorning the impressive structures of Central, the chalk slipped from her hair, landing on the cobble-stoned street with a clatter and breaking in half. The apple followed soon after, tumbling from her gaping mouth and, thudding with bruising impact to the ground, began to roll away. Jezebel took no notice of these things; her eyes were fixed on the buildings and people as her mind traveling irrevocably from astonishment to the only possible conclusion.

She gulped. "This is _so _not five minutes ago," she whispered.

Well, there you have it; the first chapter of A Little Intervention. This is my first time trying to write Roy and Riza as anything other than who they were during the series. Please don't kill me for it—there's no more of the daughter complex after the first chapter.

Construct criticism is welcome. I don't mind flames, either, as long as you can give me a reason—I'm curious to know if people don't like it. Either way, please review!

Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soon! (Unless, of course, I get mobbed by angry fangirls—please don't eat me!)


	2. In Which Edward Is Irritated

FanFiction: FMA: A Little Intervention: Pairings: Ed/Winry and Roy/Riza

Chapter 2: In Which Edward Meets a Girl so Irritating, She Seems Almost Familiar

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, except for Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye (and even then, she's also the property of Microsuede Mouse.

6s6

"Finally," Ed breathed, leaning heavily against a shop window. "I've escaped."

And what, pray tell, has our beloved hero / part-time bishi / shrimp / chibi / alchemist escaped from this time? A homunculus, perhaps? A chimera? A crazed madman bent on slaughtering every single alchemist he can get his hands on?

Despite the fact that he had, in fact, had to make repeated escapes from all of these things in the past, Edward Elric's most recent flight had not been from anything less than Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes and his perpetual desire to showcase photographs of his daughter.

After having endured several painful hours of trying to be polite while having photos of said daughter shoved in his face, Ed had decided to give the Lieutenant Colonel the slip, and escaped onto the streets of Central, where he had now been wandering aimlessly for who-knows-how-long.

Edward and Alphonse Elric were staying with Hughes' family while they were in Central, but most of their time from the next day on would be spent in the Central Library, poring over the newest books and research that the military had acquired.

Ed realised with confusion that he seemed to be drawing stares from passers-by. One woman, carrying two full shopping bags, glanced at him, then at the store behind him, and scurried on, keeping her head low. Edward, realising that he'd not bothered to check which store he'd been leaning against, turned around—

And gave a loud yell, falling back against the sidewalk. Swearing under his breath, he picked himself up and edged away from the store, pausing only to glance up at the sign, which read:

"_La Lingerie Femme"_

…In curling, magenta letters.

"Someone coulda _told _me I was standing outside an underwear store," he muttered darkly, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping off down the street.

Ed had decided a long time ago that it was better for all those involved if he ignored the stares that the more observant people gave him. Granted, his leg did make a rather strange _clank_ing sound every other step he took, but that was hiss business. And besides, explanations led to more explanations, and more explanations usually led to looks of either pity or disgust, neither of which he enjoyed.

Thus, when an old man carrying a wooden box of fruit turned and stared after him, Edward ignored him and continued on, whistling a tune his mother had used to sing.

After a moment he stopped, the melody dying in the air as he listened harder, picking out the pounding, hurried footsteps that seemed to be drawing nea—

—Which was right when the girl crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.

"What was that for!" Ed shouted, jumping to his feet. The girl remained on the ground, and for a moment he thought she might be hurt. "Are you—?" he began again.

Then she looked up, and he saw she was grinning. "I found you!" she sang, brushing her blond bangs out of her eyes and tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.

Ed's temper immediately flared. Her tone was so _annoying. _"What do you mean, you found me?" he demanded. She leapt to her feet and his temper blazed higher as he saw that she was taller than him by at least three inches.

"I found you!" she repeated, laughing in a way that was just plain infuriating.

He rolled his eyes. "How old _are _you?" Ed thinking: _she's got to be at least sixteen._

"Twelve," she answered, raising one eyebrow.

Ed paused for a moment, gears turning almost audibly. _She's twelve… and she's still somehow taller than—_

The girl suppressed a giggle as she watched the pieces fall into place in Ed's mind. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE _TWELVE?!"_

"I mean I'm twelve years old," she answered, speaking slowly as though to a kindergartner. And, grabbing his sleeve: "Come on, let's go back. They're waiting for you."

"What?" Ed demanded, fury replaced by confusion. He resisted as she tried to pull him through the crowd. "Where? Who?"

"The Hughes family, of course," she answered, throwing all her weight into trying to drag him forward. "They're waiting to have lunch."

"Oh. Okay, then," he agreed, walking suddenly forward so the girl almost fell over. After a few paces he stopped, and she banged into him from behind. "Wait… how do you know the Hughes family?!"

Jezebel sighed. _This might take awhile. _

6s6

Sorry if this one was short, I just kind of threw it together cause I have too much I want to work on. I might go back and edit later.

All right, this is my first time writing a fanfic with Ed in it, so don't kill me if he's a little OOC—but suggestions on how to fix that are welcome.

Construct criticism is welcome. I don't mind flames, either, as long as you can give me a reason—I'm curious to know if people don't like it. Either way, please review!


	3. In Which a Cover Story is Revealed

FanFiction: FMA: A Little Intervention: Pairings: Ed/Winry and Roy/Riza

Chapter 3: In Which a Totally Believable Cover Story is Revealed

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: all characters (except, of course, for the lovely Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye) belong to Hiroma Arakawa, the genius who created them. Jezebel belongs to Microsuede Mouse (go read her stories!) and me. Enjoy!

FMA fans—we worship cows.

6s6

Edward wearily rubbed his eyes. He sat in the living room of the Hughes family's home, still trying to get the facts straight. "So—you're who again?"

Jezebel gave him a look that clearly communicated her thoughts on the subject of his IQ. "I'm Maes Hughes' grandfather's cousin's aunt's niece's daughter," she said for the third time.

Edward peered between his fingers to glare accusingly at Hughes, who sat in a chair on the other side of the room, grinning like some sort of long, gangly Cheshire cat. "No one in their right mind would believe that," he informed the Lieutenant-Colonel.

"They don't have to," Hughes replied easily, leaning comfortably back into the cushions. "The story's just a formality. Who would gain from researching a twelve-year-old girl" —Ed winced; her unnatural height still bothered him— "who's also under the protection of a Lieutenant, to boot? She's just here to do some research in the Central Library."

"Just like us!" Al chimed in, his voice tinny from inside the armour.

Edward scowled.

Jezebel smiled at Al; not the fake, cheery smile she used when she wanted to charm people, but the real one she reserved for people she really liked. Ed had not yet earned the right to this smile; she supposed she had inherited the desire to tease him from her father, and was resisting the urge to call him "shrimp" and "chibi". Hughes had earned her smile; he was too goofy and warm-hearted not to have. For Elysia and Gracia, the smile was automatic—unlike Ed and Al, whom she had almost never seen in her future life because they travelled so much, Hughes's wife and daughter visited her parents frequently, and she knew them well—though it was strange to be talking to them when they still had no idea who she really was. Hughes was the only one she'd told her true identity; she figured that telling him was safe because—

She steered her mind away from that topic as Al began to speak again. "Hey, brother, maybe Jezebel can help us with our research?"

"No way, Al," Edward said immediately. "We don't even know who she is."

"Yeah, you do," she said cheerfully. "I'm Jezebel."

"That doesn't help much," Ed snapped.

She set a fake pout into place. "What, you don't believe in me? You need to be more trusting, shr—Edward," she amended hastily, watching Ed's mouth twitch as she began to say the 'S' word by accident. Much as it was fun to needle him, Hughes's furniture was nice, and she didn't want it to get broken on her account.

Ed glared at Jezebel.

She grinned back.

"Enough," Hughes said, getting to his feet. "Much as it's fun to watch you two squabble, I feel obliged to inform you that the Central Library is big enough for both of you. Not to mention that fact that what Jezebel's researching is in a completely different section than you, Ed."

"Good," he said.

Jezebel stuck her tongue out at him.

"Um, Jezebel," Al said hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like cats?"

6s6

Wow, that was painfully short—again. Sorry, hopefully the next one will be longer. Again, please review, criticize, flame—just let me know you've read it!


	4. In Which the Library Shrinks

FanFiction: FMA: A Little Intervention: Pairings: Ed/Winry and Roy/Riza

Chapter 4: In Which the Library Shrinks Considerably

Disclaimer: all characters (except, of course, for the lovely Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye) belong to Hiroma Arakawa, the genius who created them. Jezebel belongs to Microsuede Mouse (go read her stories!) and me. Enjoy!

FMA fans—we worship cows.

A/N: I've mentioned this before, but I now have an account on FictionPress too, under the pen-name Sebastian Osprey. I'd really appreciate it if you read some of my stories. I worked especially hard on Under the Quayside Docks, so please take a look.

6s6

Edward sighed, shutting the book with a dusty thud. "Looks like that 'new research' wasn't so helpful after all," he called to Al, who was standing on a precariously rickety ladder a few feet away, peering at the bookshelves. "Man, we travelled all this way for nothing," he groaned, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't know," Al called back. "We got to see Hughes, and Elysia and Gracia, too."

"Elysia and Gracia I can agree with, especially with Gracia's cooking, but Hughes? Come on, Al, you can't honestly tell me you're happy to see him!"

"Why not?" Al asked as he climbed down from the ladder, alchemy books in hand.

Ed sighed. "Al, you're so simple!"

"Hey!"

"I mean, aside from the Colonel, Hughes is the most annoying person I've ever met!"

"I guess you're right…" Al pulled up a chair beside Ed and sat down, armour creaking slightly. "But," he finished defiantly, "I'm still happy to see him."

Jezebel, listening from behind a bookshelf, smiled to herself. "Good for you, Al," she whispered, and made her entrance.

The paper plane crumpled at the tip as it hit Edward in the back of the head. "What—?!" he said loudly as it fell into his hands. Turning it over, he saw there was a message written on one of the wings.

_Chibi. P_

He scowled, crumpling the plane into a ball. Was it the Colonel?

No—

"You!" he shouted as Jezebel stepped out from behind a bookcase. "You little—"

"I'd watch who you're calling 'little'," she cut him off, grinning.

Al laughed.

"Al, not you, too!" Edward groaned, sliding back into his seat. "Hey brat," he said to Jezebel, "what are you doing here, anyway? Isn't what you're researching on the opposite side of the library?"

"Due to mysterious alchemical circumstances, the library has shrunk," she replied gravely, demonstrating with her hands. "My research is right over there."

A moment passed, in which Ed glared at Jezebel (trying to figure out whether it was worth yelling at her), Jezebel grinned back (trying to figure out if Edward had reached his limit yet), and Al sweat-dropped (if armour can sweat). In the silence, a cat mewed, the sound tinny because of its… unusual whereabouts.

"Al!" Ed groaned. "Not another one!"

"Sorry, brother!" Al squeaked, retrieving an orange kitten from inside his armour. "But he just looked so…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. He looked so cute and pitiful, with the rain and the wet fur and the big eyes… Except it wasn't raining today… You _know_ we can't keep him, Al."

"Sorry, brother," Al repeated. "But…"

Jezebel rolled her eyes. Enough was enough. "You know, I think I can probably take him back with me when I go home," she said, reaching out to take the kitten from Al. He sat curled in her hands, purring happily. "I'll take care of him."

"Thanks!" Al said, relieved.

Edward was not as grateful. "Now he'll just find another one," he told Jezebel.

She shrugged, changing the subject. "How long are you guys going to be in Central?"

"About a month," Ed replied. "We're here until Winry's birthday. She's coming to celebrate it with the Hughes family—Elysia asked her to when she was here last."

"Oh, you mean Aun—um—that is—" She stopped, drew a breath, and started again. "You mean Winry Rockbell, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Right, just… um, checking. We should be getting back to the house to eat lunch," she reminded them. "Gracia said she'd make lasagne. Oh, and Ed?" she asked as they exited the library.

"What?"

"When you finally do get taller to Winry, try not to rub it in her face, will you?"

He raised an eyebrow, thinking, _What in the world does she mean?_Aloud, he said, "Fine, Whatever. Let's get going."

6s6

"Well, we'd better be getting back to the library," Edward said, pushing his chair back. Jezebel had left a few minutes earlier, after surprising everyone with the amazing speed at which she could eat. She had wanted to get away quickly, and Ed had a feeling that it hadn't been because of Hughes's corny jokes, or even because of her research. She had kept staring at the Lieutenant-Colonel with a strange expression, as though she was trying to memorise his face. Then all of a sudden she would bite her lip and look down at her lap for a moment, then look up and continue staring. She had shovelled her food into her mouth and dashed out the door, seeming almost as if she wanted to get away from the Lieutenant-Colonel.

"Oh, Ed?" said Hughes. Ed paused on his way out the door. "Could you help me with something first? It's kind of a two-person job."

"Sure," said Edward slowly. He couldn't help but be dubious of his intentions; it was never easy to tell what he was thinking. "Al, you go on without me, I'll meet you at the library."

Al shrugged, armour clanking, and walked out the door.

The library was so quiet that for a moment Al though that there was no one there. He jumped a loud sniff came from his left, and then when he concentrated he could hear someone crying…

Someone…

Was that Jezebel?

He tiptoed through the library, glancing around each bookshelf, down each aisle. The sounds grew louder, until finally he came to the last aisle.

He peered around the bookshelf, trying to make as little noise as possible.

She sat at one of the tables, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. The change from the Jezebel he had seen barely half an hour ago was astounding. She looked broken and wretched as she sat and sobbed silently into her hands.

"Jezebel?" he whispered.

She looked up sharply, eyes wide, red-rimmed and puffy, tears trickling down her cheeks. "Al!" she exclaimed, swiping a sleeve across her face. "Where's… um… where's Ed?"

"He… he had to help the Lieutenant-Colonel with something. Why were you crying?" he asked, obviously distressed.

"It was nothing," she assured him. "I need to get back to my research."

Dubious, Al left her alone, clanking back down the aisles to the table he and Ed had been working at.

Jezebel leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Lieutenant-Colonel Maes Hughes," she murmured to herself. "Post… posthumously promoted to Brigadier General." She closed her eyes, and one last tear trickled down her cheek. "Why do you have to go and get yourself killed?"

6s6

"I'm done for today," Jezebel called to Ed and Al. "I think I'll go back to the house." She opened the door, stepped outside—

and bumped into a man wearing the blue uniform of the military. Looking up at his face, her eyes widened. "Second Lieutenant Havoc!" she exclaimed automatically.

He looked down at her, frowned in confusion. "Who—?" He took a step back so he could see her more clearly. "Oh, you must be the girl who's staying with the Hughes family. What's your name again?"

"Jezebel Mu—Jezebel," she replied. "News travels fast in the military, I guess. Oh, um, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, I got time."

"How are my—how are Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

He sighed. "Fine, I guess—we've still got a betting pool going on when they'll get together. Personally, I've got my bets on Valentine's Day—but they're both so clueless that it'd practically take Cupid himself to shove them together. —I'd be grateful if you didn't tell them about this," he added.

"My lips are sealed," she assured him, trying not to laugh. A betting pool? Her parents? This was just _too_ funny.

That was when inspiration struck.

"Havoc," she said, an evil edge creeping into her voice, "I think your betting pool may be coming to an end."

"What? Why?"

"Listen to this…"

6s6

Sorry it's taken so long, but next chapter is where the main comedy/romance begins. Again, please review, criticize, flame—just let me know you've read it!


	5. In Which Mortification Ensues

FanFiction: FMA: A Little Intervention: Pairings: Ed/Winry and Roy/Riza

Chapter 5: In Which Mortification Ensues

Disclaimer: all characters (except, of course, for the lovely Jezebel Mustang-Hawkeye) belong to Hiroma Arakawa, the genius who created them. Jezebel belongs to Microsuede Mouse, Octarine Nova, (go read their stories!) and me. Enjoy!

FMA fans—we worship cows.

6s6

There was nothing unusual about the fact that Colonel Roy Mustang was having trouble concentrating on his work. The work itself was dull—it was paperwork, and very little paperwork is ever interesting—and even if it hadn't been, there was always something Mustang would rather be doing. Namely fast forwarding to the time when he'd become Fuhrer, or, more realistically to 7:00 that night, when he had a date with a very pretty woman named Maria Jones.

Actually, despite Maria's best intentions and highest hopes, Roy never planned to get serious with her. Ever. At all. Maria was nice enough, but…

Roy found that his gaze had turned itself (without his permission, no less) to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, who at least seemed to be getting something done. He frowned, and returned his eyes to the papers in front of him. In a few moments, however, he glanced back up at his Lieutenant, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips and slant of her eyes before he forced his gaze back to the task at hand.

There were a few moments of silence, in which the tick of a clock and the scratch of Hawkeye's pen could be heard, and then a knock at the door startled them both. Riza began to get up, but sat again as the Colonel called, "Come in," and Second Lieutenant Breda leaned into the room, his grin suggesting a joke that he wasn't about to share with either of them.

"What is it?" Hawkeye asked after a moment.

"Um," Breda said, his voice tight with laughter, looking from Mustang to Hawkeye. "I was—um—"

"Spit it out," Mustang snapped, his hand tightening on his pen.

"Nothing!" Breda squeaked, and slammed the door shut.

"_Breda!" _Mustang roared, his chair scraping back at he stood up, but the sound of the Second Lieutenant's footsteps retreating swiftly down the hall suggested no chance of catching him. With an irritated sigh Mustang sat back down and picked up his pen. This had been happening all day; first Fuery, then Ross, then Grumman, and finally Breda had all leaned in the door, grinning knowingly, looked from Mustang from Hawkeye, and finally retreated, leaving no trace and no explanation.

Yes, Colonel Mustang was having trouble concentrating, but it wasn't because of the dull paperwork, nor his impending date with a woman he didn't particularly like, nor his inexplicable desire to stare at Riza.

Ever since Fuery had first showed up at the door earlier in the morning, smiling at them in the way one would tend to smile at a bride and groom after a happy and successful marriage, Mustang had had a growing sense of foreboding, a niggling notion of impending doom that he couldn't seem to shake from his mind.

This impression, which had seemed silly in the morning but had been growing more plausible throughout the day, was not entirely without grounds, as Roy and Riza were about to discover.

"CONGRATULATIONS!"

Roy's desk rattled (along with his teeth), and a pencil fell off the edge, rolling under a cabinet. He looked up, unsurprised to see Major Louis Armstrong standing in the doorway. He'd been bound to show up eventually; maybe they could get some answers out of him. "Majo—wait a minute," he said, setting his pen down. "Did you say _congratulations?_"

"Of course!" Armstrong boomed. Mustang waited him to rip off his shirt, as he usually tended to do every thirty seconds or so. However, it seemed that this matter was of enough weight that he could restrain himself.

"Congratulations on what?" Hawkeye asked.

The major paused. "But surely you know?" he said in apparent astonishment.

"Let's say we don't," Roy suggested. "For the sake of argument. What are we being congratulated on?" He wasn't sure why he used the plural, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

Armstrong beamed, pink sparkles appearing automatically. "Everyone knows!"

"Everyone knows what?" Mustang asked impatiently.

"That you've finally gotten your act together!"

"That we—what?"

"That you and Hawkeye hooked up!"

It was unusual for Armstrong to use such language, but slang was most definitely not the reason that both Mustang and Hawkeye looked at each other and suddenly flushed scarlet.

"_WHAT?!"_

6s6

Right, guys, the usual; review, please—compliment, criticise, flame—just let me know you read it!


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